


Oblivion

by Skilerc_leaf



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Imprisonment, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Prompt Fic, Yoglabs, idk he seems to like it but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skilerc_leaf/pseuds/Skilerc_leaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's beautiful, really; the oblivion. Nothing else matters.</p>
<p>(Prompt: write about oblivion.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a while ago. I recently finished it up. This has not been beta-read, so forgive me if I'd made any errors. Thanks, and enjoy reading. :D

Lalnable likes it, in here. The four glass walls may box him in, and he may be out where everyone and anyone can see him and gawk at him like a zoo animal - but honestly, he can't bring himself to care. This is his home, isn't it? It doesn't matter if the walls are transparent. 

He doesn't remember most of his time in it, but it doesn't bother him much. He spends his days in a trance, staring at the ceiling, always smiling and always drifting off, content. It's the best sensation in the world, this sense of absolute contentment. When it'd passed, he would wait patiently for more sedatives to pulse into his veins through the many tubes feeding into him, and he would be free once more. It's all part of a cycle, and he accepts it all willingly. 

Sometimes there would be people outside. Sometimes there wouldn't. Most of the time Lalnable would be too dazed to care. But that's all right. They don't bother him, anyways. All they ever do is whisper and shoot odd glances his way, from time to time. He doesn't mind that. As long as they don't try to steal these wondrous sensations from him, he's happy. 

If there's something he wants to spend the rest of his life in, it's this trance. Everything's muted, here, and so satisfyingly calming. It's all so very surreal, and so very desirable. He would gladly spend the rest of his life like this; floating forever in space, with tubes sustaining his body so he'd never have to break out of this stupor to do something like eating or drinking.

Xephos used to be so angry, brimming with fury, always sighing with endless frustration. He remembers the days, a long time ago, when his conversations with the man used to be filled with so much rage. Lalnable'd ramble on for hours about revenge, make promises of escape, talk about how he'd unleash hell upon him. Now he doesn't know why he used to think that way. There has never been a need for him to escape. And it's so pleasant, here. Why choose to leave?

Xephos isn't hot with anger anymore, nor is he cold with lack of sympathy, anymore. There's always this odd look in his eyes, now, that Lalnable can never understand. Xephos tries to communicate with him sometimes, and while his tone is as distant as ever, there's a sort of concern that Lalnable can detect in his voice. It's strange, and he can never figure out what exactly was the source of Xephos' concern. 

He doesn't remember most of their conversations, anyways, now. He doesn't remember much of anything, really. But he likes it; the numbness, the emptiness, the oblivion he would sink into. Days pass on like minutes, but he doesn't concern himself with the passing time. He didn't have any deadlines to meet, no important meetings, anything that would require him to keep track of time. He just floats endlessly until the sedatives run out. Then he waits, and floats off again.

Xephos doesn't just seem concerned, now that Lalnable thinks about it; it's an expression more akin to worry. Xephos seems almost devoted to him now: always passing by his home, glancing in and occasionally coming in to check up on him. He sometimes wonders why Xephos takes the time to check up on him. But he doesn't worry too much about it. The less he worries, the more he'll enjoy himself when the sedatives are pumped through his body. 

Maybe he'd worried too much. The sweet, sweet sensation is fading, and clarity is returning. Sharp, cold, unwelcome clarity. He tries to drift off, but his eyes keep trying to blink awake. He hisses, restless and irritated, but reminds himself that anger would make him more awake. So he calms himself, and sits back, and waits. A new dose is coming soon.

_Shirk. Shirk._ A familiar, reassuring, sweet voice informs him, "Sedatives." He feels so many things: anticipation, excitement, delight, but he doesn't want to. The emotions are overwhelming, threatening to consume him, unless they were to soon subside. But it's okay, because oblivion will wash them all away. He waits, and the void flows into his veins and claims them for its own. Then, oblivion, oblivion, oblivion.


End file.
